


The Weight of the World

by Tisserande



Category: The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Dysfunctional Family, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4966666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tisserande/pseuds/Tisserande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ander's childhood isn't like the other kids' childhood. It is special. And also less fun.<br/>At least Mike is trying to be a good big brother. Sometimes. Kind of.<br/>Maybe if Anders squints his eyes really hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight of the World

 

 

There is a little boy standing at the corner behind the store.

His narrow, pale face illuminated by the cool light of a street lamp.

The red hoodie he wears is too big and makes him look even skinnier.

He carries a worn-out backpack on his shoulders.

His small hands are clinched tensely to its straps.

There is a little boy standing at the corner and he feels lost.

 

 

They are talking about him behind his back. Anders doesn’t hear what they’re saying, but he knows they’re talking about him.

It’s a scrutinizing glance they think he doesn’t see. It’s a harsh laughter, which immediately stops when he enters the room. It’s the pitying look they give each other, when they have to pair up with him. And it’s the piercing, hissing whisper, which starts whenever he turns away.

He knows he’s different than the others. It’s not only his worn out clothes, which are still a bit too big for him. Or his plain blue backpack, which looks a bit wretched next to their colourful ones with animal prints and knights on them. He also feels different. He feels older.

During break, when they play-hide-and-seek, their voices trembling from laughter, Anders likes to sit on the bench below the big tree he can always see from his place in the class room. Sometimes, when there was food at home so he could prepare himself lunch, he nibbles his sandwich while he watches their childlike games.

He remembers, when mum was still mum, when she cared about Anders, that they’d play hide-and-seek at home. Just the two of them. She always found him, no matter how carefully chosen his hideouts were. And then she’d scoop him up into her arms and tickle him until he couldn’t stop laughing. He liked that very much. He thinks it would be nice to have someone to play with again.

But no one ever asks Anders to join them, and he doesn’t dare to ask himself. They probably wouldn’t let him anyways. The teacher though, she is nice. She smells of soap and oranges and she always gives him a smiley for his homework. Last week, when the others had already left for break, she even gave him a biscuit.

 

The bell has rung and everyone hastily scrambles together their pens and books. Anders slowly follows the stream of children along the corridor, dragging his feet. Outside of the big entrance door are the mothers already waiting to pick them up. The others, not him. Anders goes home alone most of the times. But that’s okay; Anders is already grown up and doesn’t need anyone to walk him home.

He can feel the mothers looking at him. He tries to keep his head down, because he doesn’t like to read the disapproval in their eyes. But today there is a well-known figure standing in the crowd.

“Mike!”

He darts forward, winding his arms around his big brother’s waist as far as he can, breathing in the familiar smell.

“Hey buddy,” Mike grins and tousles his hair with one hand. “Ready to go?”

Anders slips his small hand into Mike’s big one. 

“Yes,” he smiles.

All at once he doesn’t feel as if everyone is looking at him anymore. Anders is just one of them, being picked up after school, like everyone else.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

 

“Aren’t we going home?” he asks Mike when his brother makes the wrong turn.

“Don’t worry, we are,” Mike answers “But I thought we could do a bit of shopping before.”

“Oh.” 

Anders can feel his tummy clenching together.

“Hey,” Mike grins and shoves him lightly “I wanted to pick you up anyways. Don’t pull such a face. It’s gonna be fun.”

“Ok,” Anders croaks, but suddenly he doesn’t like the feeling of Mike holding his hand anymore.

The nearer they get to the store the heavier his tummy grows. He wishes he had the courage to turn around and just run away. But he doesn’t want to disappoint Mike. After all, he has come a long way to pick him up today.

Mike sends him in first. Anders always goes in first. Then he has to wait behind the shelves with the liquor. His brother gets there a few minutes later, as always. They don’t talk. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. The lump in his throat has grown too big. The backpack on his shoulders grows heavier as Mike puts in one bottle. Two bottles. Three bottles. Then the sound of the zipper again.

“Ok,” Mike whispers, “Now you wait until I’m chatting up the cashier girl and then you slink away. Wait for me at the corner behind the store. I’ll see if I can get us a car.”He grins excitedly.

Anders heart beats so hard in his chest he’s convinced it must give him away. But no one looks at him, when he sneaks out of the shop. The last thing he hears is the high-pitched giggle of the girl at the cashier.

The whole way to the back of the store Anders is waiting for someone to yell for him, but he makes it undisturbed. He hides behind the corner. Hoping that Mike will show up soon.

His heart is still pounding rapidly and he has to think of his teacher and how disappointed she’d be. Anders feels as if he’s going to be sick.

It’s getting darker around him and the street lamps come up. Mike still hasn’t shown up.

Anders hoodie is too thin for the season and he shivers in the cold. The backpack is weighing on his shoulders but when he moves the bottles inside clink together revealingly. So he only clenches his hands around the straps, stands as still as he can and waits.

 

 

There is a little boy standing at the corner behind the store.

His narrow, pale face illuminated by the cool light of a street lamp.

He carries a worn-out backpack on his shoulders.

It’s not very big, but to him it feels like the weight of the world.

 

 

 


End file.
